The Curious Incident of a Moustache in the Night
by AsexualWritesFanfic
Summary: John awakes to an interesting late night visitor... one he certainly wasn't expecting.


John woke to the feeling of handcuffs being snapped shut around his wrists. Normally John was a moderately heavy sleeper, but his time in the army had taught him to wake quickly if he had to, and handcuffs were pretty high on his I-need-to-wake-up-NOW list.

His eyes snapped open, but that did him little good as he was instantly blinded by the bedside light which had been turned on. The only thing he could see was a dark shape of someone leaning over him. He began to struggle, but was stopped short when a deep baritone said "Lie still! This will be much faster that way."

John had suddenly lost the ability to breath. He knew that voice. The last time he had heard it, he was staring up at the owner, standing on the edge of a roof. Seconds later he had watched that person, the man he loved more than anything in the world, fall to his death. Or so he thought.

"…Sherlock?" He gasped.

"Excellent deduction John, now hold still." John heard the click and resultant buzz of an electric razor, and experienced a moment of pure terror before he felt Sherlock grab his face.

"Sherlock what the bloody hell?!" John thrashed his head frantically away from the touch. Leave it to Sherlock to go after him with a razor before a proper hello. He felt his chin being grabbed in an iron grip, and his head was forced to stop moving.

"John, I told you to hold still. Now I suggest you do so as otherwise this will be most unpleasant." John complied, as he knew that whatever Sherlock was up to it was probably best to let him get it over with, no matter how questionable his methods were. A few swipes of the razor and his moustache was gone. Sherlock clicked the razor off and nodded in satisfaction.

"Much better." He said, examining John's face. John had gotten over his initial shock and was now rapidly approaching a level of anger that he hadn't thought he was capable of.

"Well that's just great. Do you mind uncuffing me now?" he said through gritted teeth. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, but grabbed the key from the night stand and unlocked the handcuffs. John rubbed his wrists, and then brought a hand to his face to feel at his upper lip.

"You know, I was proud of that moustache, it took me a while to grow it." John said, in a deceptively calm voice. Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"It was an abomination, an insult to facial hair." He said, getting up to return the razor to the bathroom. When Sherlock came back into the room, John was ready for him. He sprang out of the bed, launching himself at Sherlock with an adrenaline-fueled fury that only utter relief can bring. Sherlock had perhaps a split-second of warning before he was hit with five feet six inches worth of pissed off Army doctor. Sherlock's lanky frame hit the ground almost immediately, but he wasn't going to give up without a fight and the two started tussling on the floor.

"How long were you going to, ugh, wait until you decided to, oof, let me know that you weren't DEAD?!" John yelled, fighting to gain the upper hand. "I had to go back to my THERAPIST you utter TWAT!"

"John, wait PLEASE I can explain OW!" Sherlock grimaced as John yanked on his hair. "You would have DIED it was the only WAY…"

"I…don't…CARE!" John finally got hold of Sherlock and manhandled him until he was sitting on Sherlock's chest, pinning his arms to his sides with his knees. John drew a fist back, fully ready to punch Sherlock in the jaw. But he stopped as he met Sherlock's eyes. There was no fear in them, only sadness and guilt.

"I missed you." Sherlock said, quietly. John hesitated, then all the anger left him. He bent down and claimed Sherlock's mouth in a harsh kiss, gripping the sides of his head as if to prevent Sherlock from slipping through his fingers again. Sherlock was still for a moment, and then he responded, opening his lips to let John in. John took advantage of the concession, and thrust his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, laying claim to what he thought he had lost forever.

Sherlock began to wiggle, trying to get his arms free, and John let him up, breaking the kiss momentarily before shoving him back down onto the bed. Sherlock looked up at him with a gleam in his eye, and John knew that Sherlock needed this as much as he did. John looked him up and down, noting the conspicuous bulge at his crotch, and then raised an eyebrow at him.

"Shirt. Off. Now." He said, pointing at Sherlock's dark purple collared shirt. He had always liked that one; it would be a shame to damage it beyond repair. Sherlock quickly complied, slowly revealing a lean, muscular body as he worked his way down the buttons. He pulled the bottom out from his pants and tossed the shirt over the side of the bed. "And the rest of it." John said, his arms crossed over his chest in expectation. Sherlock looked at him from under hooded eyes.

"I would assume you are to be joining me in a state of undress?" He asked, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. John put his hand to his chin as if thinking.

"Hmm well I suppose." He pulled his loose sleep-shirt off over his head and let his pajama bottoms drop to the floor, stepping out of his underwear on his way to the nightstand. He was already hard, and he could see Sherlock was as well, so he simply reached into the drawer and drew out the small tube and a condom, which he quickly rolled on. Then he turned and advanced on Sherlock who lay back on the bed. John looked down at him for a second, soaking in the view of his partner, who was decidedly not dead, and reveled in the relief that he felt. Sherlock stuck his head up, looking at John expectantly.

"Well?" he asked. John chuckled darkly, and bent down over Sherlock, claiming his mouth hungrily once again. He straddled Sherlock's hips, feeling the evidence of both of their desires as he did so. He grinned against Sherlock's lips as he grunted at the sudden weight. John flipped open the top of the tube and smeared some on his fingers. He reached down and prodded at Sherlock's entrance, and was rewarded with a gasp. John rocked their hips together and thrust one finger in to third knuckle. Sherlock hissed beneath him, and nipped at his lower lip. John nipped back, and snaked his head down to bite at Sherlock's neck. He slipped a second finger in, and began scissoring them, stretching Sherlock to get him ready. John bent his head down and began to nibble at Sherlock's chest, every once and a while laving at his nipples with his tongue. Sherlock was taught beneath him, every muscle wound tight as a spring ready to snap. John began to work a third finger in.

"You ready?" He murmured against Sherlock's chest, mouthing his way back up to his shoulder.

"Oh God yes." Sherlock gasped, clutching at John's shoulders. John leaned back and lifted one of Sherlock's legs over his shoulder and positioned himself; then he eased in, taking it slow and allowing Sherlock to adjust. Sherlock threw his head back and grunted, clenching his jaw but clutching at John's hips at the same time. John kept moving slowly until he was fully seated inside Sherlock, then he paused. Sherlock waited a moment, and then lifted his head to look at John, his eyes bright. "For God's sake don't stop now." He gritted out. John smirked and began to move, thrusting no more than half an inch to begin with, but slowly increasing with time.

He looked down at Sherlock, his eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, hair in utter disarray, and covered in a sheen of sweat, and thought he had never looked more beautiful. John's thrusts began to come faster, and he shifted a bit until he hit Sherlock's sweet spot with uncanny accuracy, making him cry out for the first time since they had begun. John bared his teeth in triumph and began moving even faster, reaching between them with his other hand to help Sherlock along. His thrusts became more erratic, until finally Sherlock cried out again and clenched around him. John gave a few more thrusts and stopped, shuddering as he let himself be washed away by a wave of pleasure.

After he came down from his high, John withdrew and collapsed next to Sherlock, utterly spent. They panted next to each other for a few moments, and then Sherlock curled up against John, nuzzling into his neck. John reached a hand up and began to comb his fingers through the back of Sherlock's tousled mop of dark, curly hair. John planted a kiss on Sherlock's sweaty forehead. "I missed you too." He murmured as they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
